


Hello Again

by leck



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Basketball, Alternate Universe - High School, Friendship/Love, Love, M/M, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:38:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leck/pseuds/leck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschstein was the kid who always smelled too much like Axe and spent all of his time playing video games. Despite his dorky braces and pimples, Marco fell for him anyways. Come the start of freshman year and Jean is different. Suddenly, Marco finds himself falling a little harder, all while dealing with a Jean Kirschstein fanbase, new responsibilities, rival basketball teams, and the strange hope that maybe, if he lied to himself hard enough, Jean could possibly love him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oh No, He's Hot

June 25th. Grade 8.

           

            “So you really won’t be here during the summer?” The last day of eighth grade hadn’t been Marco’s favorite day. Of course, like the rest of the students, he was ecstatic that he’d get to leave the hellhole that was middle school. After the bell had rung for the last time, the rush to escape was dramatic and incredible. He, however, decided to walk slowly alongside his friend Jean, who had to wait for Marco’s parents for a carpool anyways.

            “Yeah, I’ll really be gone for the whole thing. My parents are sending me to some damn basketball camp for a month, and then we have the France trip planned . . . fuck this district, why did we get out so late? June twenty-fifth? Camp starts _tomorrow_!”

            “It sucks.” Marco’s chest felt tight. His friend stared at the ground, mumbling curses under his breath. They had been best friends since fifth grade and often did everything together. They even got sick at the same times. But Marco could guarantee that Jean never felt butterflies when he looked at him. Sometime during seventh grade, he’d begun to think of Jean’s scattered acne and shaggy, dry brown hair as cute. Marco loved the braces he hated and the glasses he despised. It shocked him when he’d first realized he felt this way. Concealing his feelings never grew any easier, but they surprised him less. He couldn’t decide whether Jean’s absence was a good thing or a bad thing. He wouldn’t be there to torment him, but he’d have nobody to talk to without him. Marco was social enough, but none of his friends were as close to him as Jean was. The two of them seemed inseparable; nobody else could put up with Jean’s blunt, unpleasant personality quite as well. In fact, it made him fall just a little harder. He had no idea why a person like Jean made his heart stutter and his knees weak, but he did, and he had to deal with it.

            “We could’ve spent the whole summer together,” Jean grumbled. The two of them passed the school gates, the crowd still present, though it had thinned a bit. “I’m good enough already! Why do I need to go to camp?”

            “I guess your parents didn’t want you spending your summer sitting around playing video games instead of enjoying the nice weather.”

            “’Nice weather’? Summer out here is the same as spending time in Satan’s asshole!” It was very dry where they lived, so summers were sweltering and uncomfortable. According to Jean, his basketball camp was an hour south, meaning the heat wouldn’t be any better. Marco laughed lightly at his comment, his heart pounding just a little too hard. He’d noticed he’d been watching his friend a bit too long when he stopped staring at the ground. Quickly, his gaze shifted away, and he mentally applauded himself. _Good for you, Marco. He’ll never know anything._ He felt a new pang in his chest, one of sadness and longing. Deep down, he wanted Jean to find out. It was burdensome, keeping such a secret from him. He wanted to talk about it, to free his pent-up frustration—Jean _was_ leaving for the summer. If it all went wrong, he could just think about it, and when he came back, he’d feel better about it. It was unrealistic to assume that Jean would ditch him, yet it remained one of his worst fears. He’d much rather love his oblivious best friend than anger him and send him away.

            “It’s disappointing. I really did want to spend summer with you, Jean.” He spoke softly. It was obvious, how sincere his words were. Maybe it was too obvious? Marco’s heart was racing. With every new thought, his palms sweat and his face flushed. _Just say it. You have a lot less to lose than you think._ “Write to me at basketball camp, will you?”

            “Yeah, I’ll write you letters. It’s so stupid! We can’t use phones or anything! I have to go _months_ without my games! You’re so fucking lucky. You get to sit home and play everything.”

            “Y-yeah.” Did he just _stutter_? Marco bit his lip, eyes glancing at Jean, who seemed confused.

            “Is anything wrong?” _Say it._ He shrugged.

            “Nothing, I—you know it’s more fun when you have someone to play those games with.”

            “I hate my parents. They’re taking away _your_ break, too! Damn, should’ve thought of that earlier! They like you better than they like me.”

            “That’s not true.” It was true. But it was the last of Marco’s concerns. “But at least you’ll be better at basketball when you come back.”

            “I’m already good enough. I’ve never had to try before. What more can my parents ask for?” Marco noticed his family’s silver car approaching, the crowd significantly less. It would be a lot harder to confess with his parents there. He didn’t exactly want them to know.

            “Um, Jean?” He could hear his heartbeat. It thumped in his already-tight chest; he strained to maintain a steady voice. Jean looked directly at him— _oh no,_ his eyes were thin and chestnut brown; his darker hair clung to his forehead and fell in his eyes . . . _say it._ Admit his feelings to him. Risk losing him forever.

            _He’ll have an entire summer to think it over._

“What’s wrong?” _Say it._

_Just do it._

“I—my dad’s here.” Defeated, he pointed to the car. Jean began to walk over to it, leaving Marco behind. He sighed, his chest even tighter than before. It would be a while before his hands stopped shaking. Jean claimed the front seat, to his relief. He couldn’t see his face burning in the back. He wouldn’t suspect a thing.

            _I love you,_ he mouthed, staring out the window blankly.

 

            August 26th. Grade 9.

 

            Marco couldn’t say he’d changed much over the summer. Despite the fact that he’d grown a few inches and gotten an undercut, he was still the same person. Apart from writing to Jean and some volunteer work, Marco’s summer was uneventful. He did sit around playing video games, like Jean had wanted to, and had beaten five of them. Other times he’d swim or play basketball, and he’d met up with some friends that weren’t Jean. They’d invited him to a few parties, but he’d declined—he felt nervous going there alone. Even so, he’d gotten closer to some of them.

            “Ugh, can you believe we’re here?” He looked up from his phone, where he’d been waiting for Jean to text him back, to see his friend Connie running over to him. Despite the fact that he could play basketball fairly well, and was aiming to make the team, he was remarkably short. Marco had to bend down just to make eye contact with him. “It’s so crowded. I can already tell this is gonna suck.”

            “Well, Shiganshina High burned down in the fire, so they’ve sent all the students here,” Marco explained, though everyone in the town already knew. Connie shrugged, though he didn’t look any happier.

            “Sucks for them. But we don’t have any room, do we?” He watched a giant crowd of girls squeal and jump around, ecstatic. “Can’t Stohess Academy extend scholarships to some of the students? I’m sure they’d want Armin. Don’t smart people give them good ratings or something?” Marco shrugged, his eyes scanning the campus for any sign of Jean. It felt like he hadn’t seen him in forever and it made him anxious. How would he feel, looking at him again? It had been a whole summer, and he’d allowed himself to distract himself from his crush. Now, he’d face him again—maybe, if he was lucky, the braces and the acne would cease to be cute.

            All at once, a bunch of girls began to nudge each other. They whispered excitedly, all looking in the same direction. Some pointed, but their friends immediately scolded them. Marco raised his eyebrows, curious. What was all the—

            Oh.

            _Oh._

His heart almost stopped. Walking towards the school’s courtyard was a boy who looked like a model—but it _wasn’t_. Like Marco, he’d gotten an undercut, but his was bleached a color that matched his eyes. A black V-neck hung loosely off his chest, though parts of the fabric clung to biceps that weren’t there three months ago. Girls squealed when he smiled at them. They used to run away. Marco couldn’t believe he’d live to see the day he wore skinny jeans, but they were _wonderful_. He couldn’t remember his ass being _that_ nice. It was impossible to look away.

            “Um, Marco?” Startled, he remembered that Connie was still standing next to him. And he could see his face flushing and hands trembling. He tried to snap out of this trance that Jean put him in, before it was too strong. “Is there something you never told me?”

            “I-I’m fine! Just spaced out!” _Shit_. The stuttering again. Connie raised an eyebrow, frowning.

            “You’re checking out that guy’s ass,” he commented, causing Marco’s blood to rush faster.

            “I—well, no, I’m just—uh—it’s a very nice ass,” he finished pathetically. He wished he could crawl in a hole and die, especially before Jean found him like this. Connie snickered, opening a black pit in his stomach.

            “Of course it is. You could’ve told me. I don’t care.” Unfortunately, Jean spotted him and met his eyes. Marco cursed his face for being so recognizable. Damn freckles.          

            “Hey bro, haven’t seen you all summer!” He proceeded to give him an awkward man-hug. Marco pleaded to every deity to have ever existed that Jean couldn’t feel his pounding heart and shaking body. “Lucky bastard, beating all those games. I barely had the chance to play anything.”

            “How was France?” He tried to not to focus on anything concerning the way he looked. Where did he get so muscular? Basketball camp? He hadn’t mentioned anything in his letters!

            Jean shrugged. “Fine. Would’ve been more fun if you were there. God I hate my family.” He then noticed Connie watching him, an expression of pure shock on his face. “Who’re you?”

            “Oh, that’s my friend Connie. He’s trying for the basketball team, too.” Jean eyed him suspiciously.

            “He’s tiny.”

            “Fuck you.”

            “Hey, all I said was—“

            “You know him?” Marco nodded slowly, wanting nothing more than to leave. Despite his dramatically changed looks, he was still Jean, meaning his social skills still sucked.

            “This is Jean. He was away the whole summer, but he’s back now.” Connie’s eyes looked as if they were about to pop out of his head.

            “ _This_ is Jean?” Jean scowled at him. “You said he was dorky-looking! You were checking out his ass earlier!”

            “ _What_?” Marco was burning. The heat that filled his skin was too much to bear. Now he _really_ wanted to crawl into that hole.

            “Um, well I—it was impossible _not_ to notice—“

            “You really thought I looked dorky before? You always told me that I was fine!” _Because you were cute._ All of it had gone away. Not a single ounce of cute was left in this boy, yet things had gotten worse. He was _hot_. He made Marco hot. It was the worst impression he could have asked for.

            “I—I just really like your new look,” Marco stammered. “You looked fine before, more than fine—it’s just that I can see that this is the real you.” It was lame. At least he didn’t blurt out that he would gladly lick the defined abs he probably had now. The thought, however, only made matters worse.

            “You look great, too. Haircut’s nice.” Marco rolled up the sleeves of his button-down, determined not to show any more feelings. At this point, Connie rolled his eyes, obviously bored.

            “Hey, I’m going to leave you to catch up,” he said, already turning away. “See ya later.” Marco watched as he walked away, determined to take his eyes off of Jean.

            “I missed you,” Jean said. Marco _really_ needed to leave. He had no idea what he was telling him, how much it meant to him . . . it was the past two years all over again, but way worse. He’d noticed that he didn’t smell so much like Axe cologne anymore. Jean had definitely shoved the embarrassing, awkward preteen years behind him. High school was going to be hell. “No homo.”

            _Worse_ than hell.

            “I missed you too, Jean.” There. He could smile at him like usual, with Jean’s denseness overlooking the fondness in it. The greatest shock was over with. Over time, he’d get used to Jean like this . . . oh, he could _so_ get used to this . . . “We should get to class.”

            “Who do you have—ugh, not the same! Our schedules don’t match up at all!” He groaned, shaking his head. “This sucks.”

            “At least there’s basketball,” Marco offered. “If we both make the team. But we can still walk to class together.” It took every ounce of willpower he had not to lace his fingers with Jean’s.

            And he’d thought middle school was bad. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello! This is my first SnK AU story! I love Jeanmarco AU's, but can never seem to find enough . . . so I've decided to take matters into my own hands and create one. There will be very minimal pairings in this. In all honesty, I don't like a lot of SnK ships. I'm quite curious to see how this story turns out!


	2. Basketball Tryouts are a Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The transition from regular homos to basketball homos

November 28th. Grade 9.

 

            In four months, Jean had gone through more girlfriends than anyone at the school could count. Even more had tried to ask him out. The girl who danced with him at Homecoming was not the same girl he took roller-skating the week before. People had started to gossip; he was a player, he was a douche, he was an asshole—though Marco would agree with the latter, he felt that their words couldn’t be further from the truth. In actuality, the Jean of old had never once had a girl even look at him. Now, with all the confessions pouring in, he couldn’t help but agree to some—Jean was simply an opportunist. And it wasn’t as if he broke any of his relationships off. While he was quite the looker, several girls learned their fundamental Jean Kirschstein basics the hard way.

            Jean was blunt as hell.

            He never _tried_ to be rude. It was simply how words came out when he spoke them. Nearly all of his relations ended when his dates could no longer handle the verbal abuse. Marco could see how it wore him out. Over and over again, he suggested that he take a break from the dating pool—but for every girl that broke up with him, two more fell in love. To make matters worse, it was quite clear that Marco wasn’t the only boy who fancied him, either.

            And here he was, making excuses for Jean, convincing himself that eventually, his pool of dates would die down when a hotter, nicer boy came along. That time would not be anytime soon. At any rate, he could turn into one of those boys who ditched his friends for dates. Maybe it would be easier for him.

            But Jean was as faithful a friend as ever. He stood by Marco’s side whenever they didn’t have to go to class. Often times both had their phones confiscated by teachers who caught them texting. Though Marco was his go-to listener for his dating escapades, they still spoke of video games, and more recently, the frosh basketball tryouts.

            Today was the big day. Both of them had been waiting since last year for this moment. Together, they walked to the large gym after school. Marco’s heart pounded, though Jean was a secondary reason this time. He knew he was good at basketball. He’d been spending most of his time practicing, when he wasn’t too busy with homework or imagining Jean in suggestive positions. Both he and Jean had been part of the basketball club in middle school, and had been fairly good. There was no telling how well the others would do, however.

            “If I make the team, I’m going to do it,” Jean announced confidently as they approached the double doors. “I’m going to ask out Ackerman.” Marco tried to smile, though he felt as if he was stabbed every time he mentioned Mikasa Ackerman, a pretty girl from his biology class or something. Marco had never seen her in person, but Jean had spent a couple of sleepovers stalking her on Facebook. She never responded to his friend request and he was still griping about it.

            “Why haven’t you asked her out earlier, rather than going out with other girls?” This question came up a lot, but Marco was never fully satisfied with the answer that Jean gave. “If you don’t really love them—“

            “Bullshit. If they’re hot, we’re going out. Really Marco, we’ve been over this.  Nobody gave a shit about me until this year.”

            “They all get tired of you,” Marco sighed, opening the doors. Maybe uncomfortable conversation would distract him from the potentially better players. “Wouldn’t you want somebody who really _knows_ you? Maybe someone who knew you in middle school, and knows you know?” He tried to keep his voice from sounding as if he was jealous. Jean didn’t pick up on anything.

            “Are you fucking serious? Marco, tell me you’re not serious. Nobody who knew me in middle school is ever getting a date with me. That is too much embarrassment for me to deal with.” Marco pretended like this didn’t poison his bloodstream.

            “I see—“

            “Whoa, no way! She’s here—shit, she’s here!” Indeed, when Marco followed Jean’s eyes, he found a girl with long, shiny black hair and a blank expression on her face talking to some boy dressed in athletic clothes. Clearly she was here to watch him and not Jean. It didn’t stop him from acting like an idiot. “What if I fuck up really badly and thinks I’m pathetic?”

            “Don’t worry. Making mistakes is a normal part of life—“

            “But it’s Mikasa! She barely knows me!”

            “Then why are you planning on asking her out?”

            “Can you stop sounding like my mom, Marco? Why are you so against me and my dating habits?” He bit his lip, cursing the pounding in his chest.

            “Sorry, I’m just a bit nervous. Tryouts . . .” He gasped as he felt a firm hand grasp his shoulder. Jean moved closer to him, and the gym disappeared. Everything was _Jean_ ; he could hardly breathe anymore, yet it steadied him. It was impossible to explain, but it comforted him and drove him insane.

            “Don’t you dare doubt yourself. You’re good. I’m good. We’re going to make this team.” Back to reality. The sound of a whistle cut through his thoughts, just in time. He couldn’t spend the next two hours thinking about Jean.

            “What is victory?” As a middle-aged man, Marco began to realize just how many kids sat in the gym. Students filled five rows of bleachers easily. Just as his nerves began to act up again, he saw Jean scowl at him, muttering his encouragement. Marco smiled, wondering how he’d get through the afternoon, constantly fighting two very different types of anxiety. “For each of you, the answer is very different. For some, it may be winning the season. For some, an undefeated record. For others, simply making the team. Whatever it is, there is no guarantee that you will get there.”

            “I like him already,” Jean whispered. “He’s not full of sappy bullshit like middle-school coaches.” His hair was neat and honey-colored. Though he had quite a bit of stubble on his face, it was clear that he was well-groomed.

            “For those of you who don’t know, I am Coach Zakarius. Those of you who make the team will not have to take PE second semester. That being said, I take it that all of you are here because you wish to play basketball.”

            “No fucking shit.” Marco had to suppress a laugh.

            “Not everyone will work on a team. Unfortunate as it may be, only twelve of you will make it. Do not let this unnerve you. In a real game, you need to play under immense pressure. Do not feel that you have to change anything about the way you naturally play. For the first part of practice, you will run drills. The next, you will be divided into teams, and will play a practice game. Anyone who cannot respect other students or school guidelines will be dismissed, and will not earn a spot of the team.” He paced the floor, though he kept his eyes on the students. By this point, Marco’s nerves had calmed significantly. He was more than capable of working under pressure—in fact, it was one of his greatest assets—and he liked Coach Zakarius’s attitude. He wasn’t going to let months of practicing go to waste. _We’re going to make this team._

They started with drills. Marco thought he’d done fairly well, though at one point he’d nearly crashed into an enormously tall, nervous looking boy. He’d apologized to Marco profusely, though it appeared that the coach didn’t even see the incident. Other than that, the drills were relatively uneventful, though one kid nearly fainted and asked to be sent home. Afterwards, they received a five-minute break, where they could rehydrate and catch their breath.

            “Doing great, Marco,” Jean panted, patting his back. His presence caught him by surprise, to his heart’s annoyance. “We’re so making this team.”

            “Yeah,” Marco smiled, wiping his forehead. “Those suicide runs were awful, though.”

            “They fucking sucked. But I threw a couple of smiles and winks in Mikasa’s direction.” He had forgotten she was even there, but clearly Jean hadn’t. Marco sighed.

            “Shouldn’t you be more focused on the tryout?”

            “Relax. I’m fine! I don’t even have to try. It’ll be easy—“

            “If you don’t have to try, why do you even bother?” Startled, Jean and Marco turned to find a boy with dark hair and light eyes frowning at them. Marco recognized him as the boy Mikasa had been talking to earlier. Jean rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Do you even want to be on the team?”

            “Of course I do! You know playing sports and being good at them is the key to winning scholarships, right?”

            “So you don’t even care about the game itself?” Jean looked tense. This kid was shorter than him by a bit. He was fairly muscular, though his clothes were baggy, making it hard to tell. “You’re wasting your time.”

            “Oh, are you the fucking basketball saint or something, sworn to protect the sanctity of basketball? Do you even hear yourself talk?”

            “Lazy bastards like you don’t deserve a position! Playing for all the wrong reasons . . .”

            “Listen here you little shit—HEY! MARCO!” He had seized Jean by the abdomen and pulled him away from the other boy. Frustrated, he turned his face to Marco, who was trying his hardest not to be distracted by his nice, toned chest and his fine arms. “Are you going to let him get away with this?”

            “You’re not attacking anyone. Then you definitely won’t get a spot on the team.” He then turned to the boy Jean had been arguing with. “I’m sorry. Jean can be a little temperamental at times—“

            “Do you think you’re my fucking mom?”

            “Shut up Jean, do you want the coach to hear you? You know your teamwork skills are shit.” Jean sighed, releasing the tension in his chest and shoulders.

            “I hate you.” Marco let him go. A minute later, the whistle blew, reminding everyone that tryouts were not over. The scrimmage was the most deciding moment of the practice, as Coach Zakarius had announced. If certain individuals couldn’t play nice together, they would not make the team.

            Marco was wrong to ever worry about himself. It was Jean he needed to be concerned for.

            “I’m going to put you into teams of five. Two teams will play a ten-minute game on the court at a time. Winning does not ensure a position, as losing doesn’t guarantee that you’re off the team. Understand?” The crowd of sweaty, nervous students nodded. “Alright. Let’s get started. Can I have Wagner, Braun, Munsell . . .”

           

            Three games later, Marco stood on the court, staring directly across from him. He had been separated from Jean, which stressed him out. If Jean lashed out at anyone on his team, he might not be able to cool him down. Now, he was expected to play against him. _This shouldn’t be so hard,_ he thought, cracking his knuckles. _Just a bit of friendly competition._ They played against each other all the time, be it video games or sports. Both of them were highly competitive, and they both wanted to impress the coach.

            “Alright, so because this is a tryout, I believe we should all show off our strengths,” Marco began. He called his teammates into a huddle, which they willingly agreed. “I’ve always been the point guard in the past, so if it’s okay with you, may I?”

            “Go ahead,” one of his teammates, a tall boy with buzzed black hair replied. “If nobody minds, I’d like to be small forward.”

            “I call shooting guard,” the brunet boy, the one Jean had been fighting with, announced. “And I nominate Bertholdt for center.” The massively tall, nervous boy from earlier seemed alarmed for a second, but then agreed.

            Marco turned to the last team member, an unimpressive-looking blond. “Alright, so I suppose you’ll be power forward. Is that okay?” The boy shrugged. “And our strategy?”

            “When in doubt, give the ball to Bertholdt.” The game hadn’t even started, and the tall, olive-skinned boy was sweating already.

            “Franz!” The boy who’d offered to play small forward shrugged.

            “Hey, don’t underestimate yourself! All you have to do is hold the ball up in the air, and nobody will ever get it!” It didn’t comfort the nervous boy. “I’m joking. I think we should just rely on each other. The coach is looking for teamwork, probably.” Before the team could plan any further, Coach Zakarius blew his whistle. The teams lined up at the center of the court, staring each other down hungrily. Marco found himself making eye contact with Jean, who smirked—it was dangerous and sent shivers down his spine and set his blood on fire—

            _Shit_. Lost in thought, Marco hadn’t noticed the game’s beginning. Fortunately, Bertholdt had been the first to touch the ball, due to his sheer height. Though confused, he quickly passed to the very serious boy, who nearly missed it. Jean smirked again, throwing Marco off-balance once again. Damn. This would be harder than he thought.

            A boy from Jean’s team stole the ball from him a minute in, causing him to run angrily after it. After faking him, he passed to Connie, who could weave through crowds quite easily, much to Marco’s surprise. He passed to Jean, who gave his team the first point.

            “Nice,” Marco smiled, who admitted to himself that Jean’s shot was rather impressive, and he especially liked the way his shirt exposed his stomach as he shot. His friend scoffed.

            “Not so much of a ‘lazy bastard’ now, huh?” He then turned to the kid from earlier. “See that, basketball saint?”

            “That was one basket,” he replied, “Cocky asshole.” The play resumed, this time Jean’s critic seizing control of the ball. He quickly lost it again, but Marco was able to steal it back. Quickly, he threw to Bertholdt, who managed to shoot a three-pointer despite his nerves.

            “You can’t even keep the ball for three seconds,” Jean taunted. “Think you’re cool?”

            “Jean, I really think you should tone it down,” Marco warned. “They’re watching you.”

            “I guess I’ll have to score a lot to make up for it.” His smirks were sinful. God, Marco hated him so much.

           

            By the last few seconds of the game, the two teams were tied twenty-twenty. Most of Marco’s teams’ points were courtesy of Bertholdt, but he’d made some impressive plays himself. Unfortunately, Jean and Connie were horrifyingly good; Connie’s footwork combined with Jean’s shooting capabilities made a deadly combination. Now, time was running out—Marco caught a pass from the serious boy and now made his way across the court, breaking through one line of defense. Just as he was about to throw the ball into the hoop, a giant from the other team blocked him and his ambitions. Desperately, he searched around—everyone on his team was blocked, even Bertholdt—surely, he was his best bet, being tall as he was—out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jean running, wide open. Without thinking, he smiled as he handed him the ball. Grinning, he jumped, seeking to dunk it in. It wasn’t until his teammates—and everyone else watching—began to groan. The whistle signified the end of the game. It was a victory for Jean’s team that Marco wasn’t a part of.

            “What the hell?” The serious boy watched up to him, shouting. “He wasn’t on our team! Why the fuck did you pass to him?”

            “I didn’t realize—it was such a dumb mistake, oh God I’m stupid—“

            “It’s okay—Marco, is it? It’s okay to get nervous—“

            “That was such a stupid mistake! And to that asshole, of all people—“

            “Eren.” They turned to find Mikasa approaching them, frowning. Without saying a word, she grabbed his wrist and looked him in the eyes. Eren, the serious boy, sighed, narrowing his eyes in defeat. “It’s not worth it.”

            “You’re right,” he admitted. “Sorry, Marco. Despite that dumb-ass mistake, you’re a cool guy.”

            “Thanks . . .” He was mad at himself. Why did he pass to Jean? He could’ve just thrown to Bertholdt. Bertholdt was more than capable of catching that pass . . .

            His self-pitying thoughts were interrupted by a rough clap on the back.

            “Jean!” He was smiling. Marco punched him in the chest jokingly. “Don’t do that!”

            “That was stupid of you, passing to the enemy.”

            “I know. Don’t remind me.”

            “You’ll still make the team. A blind person could see how well you work with people.”

            “Don’t flatter me. I can’t believe—“

            “Marco.” His voice was dead serious. He found himself looking into Jean’s eyes, which were narrowed. “You’re on the team.” When he looked at him, he could believe him instantly. If he let himself, he could believe anything Jean said. _Control yourself, Marco._ He smiled, allowing himself to pat Jean on the arm.

            “We’ll see.” He couldn’t tell what made him more nervous—the thought of the results of tryouts, or the fact that Jean walked beside him, still glistening with sweat and beaming with confidence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything I know about basketball and how it works is either a) what I found while googling or b) obtained by watching Kuroko no Basket. If I've screwed up any of the details, just gently correct me and I'll fix it.
> 
> I swear basketball is relevant to the plot. Just trust me.


	3. Marco's advice is not as smooth as he would like to believe

November 29th. Grade 9.

 

            “I told you so.” Jean stood in front of him, smiling widely. That smile was enough to reduce him to schoolgirl giggling. He would die before revealing that. “C’mere, look.”

            “Jean, what are you— _hey_!” He found Jean mercilessly dragging him through the halls. Several students stopped to stare, but Marco was too busy worrying about his burning face and the fact that Jean could _probably_ feel his heart stammering. Eventually, he released him in the hallway outside the gym. _Oh_. Marco knew exactly what this was. Suddenly, his nerves were firing up again, though he knew that he shouldn’t worry, because Jean was smiling so widely—

            He’d made it. They’d both made it.

            “Jean—JEAN!” Wrapped in happiness, he threw his arms around his friend, burying his face into his chest. A second later, he’d noticed that he was reenacting one of his frequent Jean fantasies and proceeded to awkwardly transition into a manly, platonic, no-homo style hug. “I shouldn’t have doubted you, should I?”

            “Never doubt me. I’m always right!” He smiled like the stupid jerk he was. “Ugh, isn’t Eren Jaeger the basketball saint?”

            “Looks like he made it, too,” Marco commented. “Good for him.”

            “Bad for me. Ugh, this is going to be awful—Mikasa! I said I’d ask her out if I’d made the team!” Marco felt as if a pile of bricks crushed his chest. Now Jean could become some basketball stud, and even more girls would flock to him. “I can’t back now, can I?”

            “Of course you can. In fact, backing out might be a good—“

            “Are you encouraging me to give up? Wow, some friend you are.” Jean turned away, satisfied with the list. Marco followed him, though he didn’t feel nearly as high-spirited as before. “Kidding. You take everything too seriously nowadays, you know. Maybe you should lighten up. I can get you in with some girls, you know.” He gave Marco a couple of pats on the back, as if he expected that to make him feel better. “We could go on a double date! It’ll be me and Mikasa, and I can find you someone—come on, it’ll be fun!”

            “She might not say yes.” The bell rang, suggesting that they might want to head to class. Jean groaned, but the two of them began to walk in the direction of the science building.

            “Well . . . damn, you’re right . . . I just have to be smooth. Cool. Irresistible.”

            “You’ll always be a loser to me, Jean.”

            “You fucking suck, Marco.”

            “You’re not much better.” He was so much worse. He didn’t say this. Instead, he scanned the campus as they walked around, hearing the familiar giggles of Jean’s admirers and rough calls and cheers from various social circles. Couples held hands; some were straight-up making out in the middle of the hallways.  It had definitely been a change, the first time he’d realized that high school relationships weren’t like middle school ones. The people involved _actually touched._ And though he’d dreamed of actually touching Jean for years, it would have never been possible in the eighth grade, even if he did like him back. Maybe they’d sit closer to each other on the couch while they cussed at their video games. Now that they were a little older, Marco realized how badly he wanted to do more with him. His lips seemed soft, and every day he grew more experienced . . . he wondered what he’d sound like moaning—

            He shook his head, his conscious thoughts catching up to his fantasies. Blush covered his face, but Jean was looking away, possibly contemplating his own romantic issues. In front of his classroom, Mikasa leaned casually against the wall, listening to a shorter, nerdy-looking blond friend. If his feelings were serious, Marco knew exactly how Jean felt. He could tell that Mikasa was not interested in him at all—deep down Jean had to know that, too. When rejection came, he could comfort him. Reassure him. Hold him—

            He couldn’t even be a great friend. All he could think of was taking advantage of him. It was shitty of him and he would never mean to hurt Jean, but he’d never felt so selfish in his life. Jean was a person, not an object. He couldn’t own him. He could never be his.

            “See you later, Jean,” Marco waved, attempting a smile. “Congrats on making the team.”

            “We knew that was going to happen,” Jean smirked, though it only lasted a second. “See you.”

            “Good luck.” Now Jean smiled. It looked nice on him.

            “Thanks, man.” He felt uneasy turning away. It was one of those moments where he didn’t know what he wanted. All he knew was that he felt like the worst person in the world.

 

            Everything from the way Jean swung his arms as he power-walked across the school to the scowl he wore on his face indicated the inevitable result of his attempt to ask Mikasa out.

            “So . . . she wasn’t interested?”

            “She straight-up refused!” He sat down far too forcefully. “She flat-out told me ‘no’!”

            “Hey, don’t blame her . . . it’s not her fault . . . it just wasn’t meant to be, I guess—“

            “I looked like a fucking idiot!” His voice was too loud. It attracted attention from nearby students attempting to enjoy lunch in peace. “I _stuttered,_ Marco! Like a fucking schoolgirl! I never want to go to that stupid class again.” He sulked, arms crossed across his chest. This would be a perfect opportunity to take him in his arms and hold him. _Have restraint. We are not going through this again._

            “I’m sorry it didn’t go so well,” he offered. Despite his concerns, he allowed himself to rest an arm on his shoulder. Jean flinched, but otherwise didn’t seem too bothered by it. “She just doesn’t know you. Maybe you’ll get closer. Or, you know, there are plenty of people who do know you and would gladly go out—“

            “No, there isn’t.” He sighed, his voice rough with frustration. “You’re right. Everyone who likes me does get tired of me. Mikasa’s smart. She didn’t even give herself a chance to get bored.” He turned to Marco. His expression almost killed him—his eyes were closed and his mouth was drawn open, to take a deep breath. Chestnut hair fell in his face, causing Marco’s heart to beat a little faster. He removed his arm from his shoulders, beginning to worry. Jean opened his eyes. They were small as usual, but darker. They pulled him in every time he tried to pull out. “They’re all strangers. They like my face, so they decide to date me. But the second I say something they don’t like, they find out that they can’t put up with my shit personality and break it off. And then they expect me to be fine with it because there’s a whole new batch of other girls ready to take their place. It’s the same damn thing every time, and I’ve been too stupid to get out of this cycle!” He was covering his face now. Gently, Marco reached for his hand, but he turned away. Sighing, he squeezed his arm. Jean seemed to relax a little. Marco bit his lip. Though he seemed to radiate self-confidence, these moments happened every so often . . . there was a reason Marco was his closest friend. Through the years, he’d listened to their friends talk behind his back, about how he was selfish and shallow and the biggest asshole out there. Marco knew better. Maybe it was his feelings for him, or the way he tried to see past the surface of a person, but Jean turned to him when these moments struck. It was Marco’s job to get him through.

            “It may seem impossible, but one day you’ll meet someone who will change this. They will know you, and see you for everything you are—“

            “That’s not exactly comforting, Marco.” He finally removed his hands from his face. It was red, as if he had been crying. Marco’s heart thumped in his chest painfully. Jean was hurting. It hurt him, too.  He really wanted to hold him. If it would make Jean feel better, he would—but there was no guarantee it would work.

            “They will love you for everything you are. Especially those good qualities that nobody really sees—that you don’t even see. You don’t get it, do you? You act like you’re above everyone, but you don’t think you’re any good at all.” Jean watched him as he spoke, frowning.

            “Why do you even talk to me, Marco?” Marco raised his eyebrows, startled. “You deserve better friends. I saw the way you talked to your teammates at tryouts yesterday. People trust you. They want to talk to you, because you’ll make them feel good about themselves. I don’t even know what’s wrong with me! I can’t be desirable!”

            “Jean!” He didn’t care about resisting. His friend was on the verge of tears. He could feel it in the way he spoke, in the way his breaths came out shaky and vocal—Marco wrapped his arm around him. It really did feel as nice as he’d always imagined. Jean was closer than ever—he wanted to kiss those tear-stained cheeks and bury his face in his chest. He wanted their hearts to pound together. Instead, he settled for wiping his eyes, which drew his attention.

            “I wouldn’t have stayed with you since seventh grade if I didn’t like you,” he assured him. Jean simply blinked, as if the words went straight over his head. “I would have tried to distance myself. But I want to be closer, Jean—“ _Wrong thing!_ He tried to laugh it off, but it came out as a one-syllable, dry huff. “I mean—well, what I meant by that is—I’m not taking pity on you. I really do like you—“ _Why isn’t anything sounding right? Get out of your stupid fantasies!_ “I hate it when you belittle yourself. So one girl you really liked didn’t say yes. You don’t know her reasons. And everyone who breaks up with you—maybe it really is all for the best. You don’t _have_ to say yes to any of them. Wait for someone who will really value you.” _There’s somebody like that sitting right here._

Jean exhaled sharply, staring at the ground. “I’m never going to find anyone like that.”

            “Then maybe you should value yourself a bit more.” He looked up again, expression unreadable. Marco offered a smile. He leaned in closer. If Jean felt uncomfortable, he didn’t show it. After a moment, he matched his smile, nodding slightly.

            “Yeah, I guess,” He then stood up, stretching his back and brushing off his clothes. “I’m gonna buy food. Want anything?”

            “No thanks.” He left, leaving Marco alone. Heaving a sigh, he watched the clouds pass. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to write as much of this fic as I can before school starts again. I go back in two days. That way, I can update regularly even without much writing time. I've decided to just go ahead and post the first three chapters. I still need to work out an update routine.
> 
> Thanks to all who have read so far!


	4. What Team?

December 7th. 9th Grade.

 

            “All in favor of Marco as team captain?” Not a single hand missed the air. Marco almost choked on his own happiness. When he’d applied, he hadn’t expected to be met with this much enthusiasm. The team had just finished their stretching exercises when Coach Zakarius called for their attention. He’d announced that it was time to vote on team captain. They’d had two practices already, which they’d mainly spent drilling. Last practice ended in a game. Marco made sure he didn’t pass to the opposing team. Instead, he seemed to have properly demonstrated his leadership, and now the entire team wanted him to lead. He grinned as he watched his teammates, Jean especially. He was nodding and smiling too, only adding to his happiness. “All opposed?” All at once, every hand dropped. Smiling, Coach Zakarius wrote a note on his clipboard. “Congratulations, Marco. You are Trost’s team captain!” He felt a few others clap him on the back, cheers resounding through the gym. He smiled humbly, acknowledging the warmth in his chest. It was nice to be chosen unanimously. He didn’t even think he was that popular.

            “I called it,” Jean grinned, clapping his shoulder. Marco’s cheeks went pink. “It was pretty fucking obvious.”

            “Congratulations.”

            “Great job!”

            “Jean’s right for once.” Everyone felt that he was the most suited to guide the team. He swelled with happiness and pride. “I wouldn’t want to be part of a team led by anyone else.”

            “Thanks, Eren. That’s really kind of you.”

            “Three cheers for Freckled Jesus!” Marco blushed a little as Reiner, the team’s second tallest player, nudged his shoulder. “HELL YEAH!” he screamed, inspiring a rambunctious chorus of “HELL YEAH! HELL YEAH!” Now he was sufficiently embarrassed.

            Just in time, Coach Zakarius blew his whistle. “Now that it’s settled—congrats again, Marco—we need to get to practicing. Every year since our school’s formed, we’d managed to make the state championships—“

            “Only to get crushed by Stohess Academy,” a boy with short brown hair and nervous eyes finished. Coach Zakarius was unfazed, but everyone else knew he was right. “I don’t really want to face them—“

            “If you’re going to have that kind of attitude, Daz, I suggest you leave right now.” Daz jumped, horrified at the notion of leaving, but quickly resumed his usual composure. The coach redirected his attention to the team as a whole. “It’s true that Stohess has always been the stronger school. But last year, we’ve come closer to victory than ever before. Last year, we beat Karanes and Hermina. I believe that this year, we can come even closer.”

            “But we’re freshmen,” Jean said, slightly annoyed. “Does anyone actually take us seriously?”

            “Are you saying you don’t care about beating other teams?” Eren was on his case again. Marco was used to it by now, but it was kind of annoying. Jean expected him to take sides, but he really didn’t mind Eren. He was amazingly driven. Though he lacked natural talent, his efforts amazed him. He could see how it would bother Jean, who only tried when he wanted to show off. “We are the school’s future JV and varsity team! If we beat Stohess this year, we’ll be strong enough to beat them again!”

            “Well put, Jaeger,” Coach complimented. Eren gave Jean a shit-eating grin. Marco had to hold him back, which only frustrated him more. “Basketball is no fun without a little competition. All of you have the potential to become strong players. Whether you put in the effort or not is up to you.” He scanned each individual member of the team, expression thoughtful. Eventually, he spoke again. “Let’s scrimmage today. Once you’ve finished stretching, I want Jaeger, Munsell, Bodt, Kirschstein, Braun, and Wagner to put on jerseys. The rest of you will oppose them.” The team dispersed for their regular stretching exercises. Jean settled next to Marco and groaned.

            “I can’t believe we have to be on a team with Jaeger,” he whined, reaching for his toes. Marco caught a glimpse of his torso and redirected his gaze. “And we have to play against Bertholdt.” Their nervous teammate was currently chatting with Reiner, who he seemed to be partner-stretching with. Marco turned back to Jean, who was muttering under his breath.

            “He’s not so bad. Eren, that is. And we still have Reiner. Bertholdt’s really tall, but Reiner’s faster.”

            “True.” Jean reached in front of him, highlighting the curvature of his back. Marco bit his lip. “Speaking of which, we have to deal with Connie, too. Damn kid moves too fast. You’d think he’d suck, being so short.”

            “But we have you,” Marco assured him. “And we have me.”

            “Hell yeah.” He couldn’t tell whether Jean was mocking him or praising him. Either way, he felt flattered. “Let’s go kick some motherfucking ass.”

 

            The teams were actually quite evenly matched. Marco was infinitely relieved that Coach Zakarius had the sense not to put Reiner and Bertholdt on the same team. The two of them were monsters. They guarded fiercely and blocked each other’s shots almost every time. Together, they could carry the weight of the entire Trost team. Reiner wasn’t afraid of passing, either. Despite a somewhat scary exterior, he seemed to really care about his teammates. Marco admired that. The last thing he needed was to lead a team of arrogance . . . speaking of which, Jean was heading towards the basket, full speed ahead, deliberately ignoring the fact that Franz and Daz were both guarding him and that Eren was wide open—he let go of the ball, only to have Franz’s hand slam it to the ground. A boy Marco was unfamiliar with stole it and passed to Bertholdt, who managed to score before Reiner noticed.

            “God fucking damn it,” he cursed, fuming. Marco walked up to him and slapped him on the back, dangerously close to his butt. He realized this a bit late. “What was that for?”

            “You know Eren was open,” he scolded. Jean scowled. “I don’t care how much you dislike him. No assholes are allowed on my basketball team.”

            “Did you have to slap my ass to get the point across?” Marco blushed.

            “I—I didn’t mean—“

            “Just teasing. God Marco, stop taking things so seriously!” The sound of the whistle ended the conversation, much to Marco’s relief. He stood back in his position, scanning the floor for openings as he watched the gameplay continue. Even so, the incident weighed in his mind, and he wondered how many close shaves he’d have to endure.

 

            “Hey, Marco, I just remembered . . . I promised to hook you up with a date, right?” Marco bolted upwards, pulling a fresh white t-shirt over his sweat-soaked body. He had forgotten all about Jean’s promise, one that he honestly didn’t want unless his date was Jean himself. Speaking of Jean, he wasn’t wearing a shirt at the moment, and his shoulders gleamed with beads of sweat and his hair clung to his forehead, almost over his eyes . . . Marco threw the shirt he’d worn in practice onto his lap, desperately hoping that nobody could tell his ears were as red as his face. Unfortunately, this was a boys’ locker room, and all of his teammates were in here, shrugging their shirts off and changing into jeans. Despite the warbled sound of mixed conversations, Jean’s statement had attracted quite a bit of attention.

            “You don’t have to,” Marco shook his head. “But thanks for the offer.”

            “No, seriously, I have to do this for you. I want to thank you—for the thing a week ago or so—“

            “You mean Mikasa rejecting you?” Eren laughed, causing Jean to snap his head around ridiculously fast. He was beyond pissed. Marco knew that despite his clothing situation, he needed to be alert, in case he snapped.

            “How the fuck do you know her? Like she’d talk to you!”

            “She’s my sister, dumbass! Of course she talks to me!” The look on Jean’s face would have been priceless, if he wasn’t so mad. For a few awkward seconds, he could do nothing but attempt to speak; his throat made breathy, unintelligible sounds as Eren smirked, clearly pleased.

            “How—how dare she? She—you—you don’t _look_ related!”

            “She’s adopted. And she’s closer to me than you’ll ever be—“

            “Listen here—“ Marco pulled him back, still in a sitting position. He glared at him angrily for a second, but Marco tried to smile.

            “So, you were going to hook me up with someone?” He heard a snicker behind him. Connie winked, his smile wider than his face. He turned to Franz and Thomas, whispering and pointing to Jean. Marco smacked his head, unsure if he could blush any harder. Perhaps he should have let Jean rip Eren to pieces.

            “Yeah. There’s a girl in my English class who seemed interested. Her name’s Mina Carolina, you know her?” Franz raised his eyebrows in recognition.

            “Oh, I know her,” he interrupted, walking closer to him. “She’s friends with my girlfriend. She’s really sweet. You’d like her.” He winced as Connie nudged him in the ribs. Marco pretended he didn’t see.

            “Yeah, you two would be so nice together I’d have to punch a wall to feel manly again.” Marco laughed awkwardly at Jean’s comment, though all he could think about were how he really did have abs, and they were _nice._ Others laughed as well, providing a nice distraction.

            “So Jean, do you only work for Marco, or what?” Reiner stood behind Jean, almost scaring him out of his wits. After a second of adjusting, he shrugged.

            “Depends, who?” He clapped a giant hand on his shoulder.

            “Hook me up with Christa Lenz. I’ll even pay you—“      

            “Christa Lenz?” Daz looked like he was about to wet his pants. “Dumb idea, man. You’ll have to sell your soul to Ymir if you want to stand within a ten-foot radius of her.”

            “Ymir?” It was clear that he spent way too much time with Jean. He had no idea who half these people were.

            “Christa’s girlfriend,” Bertholdt explained. “Reiner, I told you, you’re not separating a perfectly healthy relationship—“

            “It’s not healthy! Ymir is controlling her!”

            “They’re perfectly happy! Christa is in my biology class! She never shuts up about Ymir—“

            “Christa is a goddess! She deserves so much better—“

            “Ymir does everything for her! She does give her freedom! But there are a ton of idiots trying to steal her girl!”

            “Bertl’s right. Besides, are you sure Christa’s even _into_ guys?” Jean asked. Reiner let out a defeated sigh. “Marco’s a special case.” His heart thumped a little harder.

            “I know someone who could hook up with Marco,” Connie teased, wagging his eyebrows. Marco shook his head violently, only triggering Jean’s curiosity.

            “Really? Who? Is Mina not good enough?”

            “That’s not it.” He came closer to Jean, standing almost directly in his face. “Are you sure Marco’s even _into_ girls?”

            “What? No! Of course I am!”

            “Of course he is!” Both spoke at the same time, overlapping each other. He quivered as Jean stared at him quizzically, raising one eyebrow. “Are you?”

            Marco bit his lip, leaning so far back he almost fell off the bench.

            “I—I think my mom’s waiting for me.” His chest felt light and empty.

            “You’re avoiding the question.” He suddenly raised his eyebrows, his eyes widening. “Why didn’t you fucking tell me!?”

            “I’m not—Jean, I’m not—I’m going on a date with Mina Carolina—“

            “I’m your best friend! What, did you think I’d leave you, because of all those stupid TV shows? I don’t fucking care what you want to put into your mouth or where you want to stick your cock—“

            “Jean, please, shut up!” He panted, trying to recover from his too-quick heartbeat and the heat that radiated off his entire body. Pulling himself upright, he grabbed a towel and wiped his face. He was going to murder Connie. And Jean. Actually, no, he couldn’t murder Jean. _Damn him and his sexy body and stupid smirking and horrible attitude—_

“Is any way to treat your team captain? By embarrassing the shit out of me?” Marco stood up, refusing to meet Jean’s eyes. “You’re wrong! You’re all wrong! Don’t make assumptions about people!” He threw his sweaty shirt at Jean, gathering his things without looking back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He stormed out, chest heaving, on the verge of tears. _Damn it._ Never in his life had he felt more humiliated. The evening air felt cold against his face, but he needed it desperately. It cooled his face; he sighed in relief as he walked towards the parking lot. Pulling out his phone, he texted his mom, asking her to pick him up. Frustrated, he paced back and forth, his mind crowded and his stomach queasy. What the hell was he supposed to do? If he told Jean, he’d start to suspect that his feelings ran deeper than friendship. If he didn’t, Jean would pester him about it until he told him everything—

            “I’m going on that date,” he announced, his heart still racing. It was horrible, using an innocent girl in such a way. But he needed to stop the questioning before it grew. Jean was suspicious now. Well, he’d harbored this crush for almost three years. He was going to defend it no matter what it took. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really liked writing this chapter. This was a fun one :)
> 
> And it looks like the story's starting to pick up . . .


	5. Marco's not-date

December 9th. 9th Grade.

 

            Marco had no idea what to wear on a date. He’d never done it before. What if he was too fancy, or too casual? He’d spent an hour on the phone with Jean, nervously asking whether his choice of clothing was appropriate or not. His friend had reassured him countless times that his clothes were fine, that his usual style of casual-but-nice would be perfect, and he was way overthinking things. In the end, he chose to dress in a red t-shirt with one of his plaid, dark-colored button-downs with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He stayed in the jeans he’d been wearing, but freshened up a bit. Now, he stood on an unfamiliar doorstep, a bouquet of roses in on arm, his palms sweating and his heart pounding. He did not know Mina at all, not even what she looked like or what she liked to eat. What if she didn’t like Italian food? So many things could go wrong . . . how did Jean do this all the time?

            He rang the doorbell, his nerves tingling. This was surely the most awkward night of his life. _Deep breaths, Marco. Think of why you’re doing this._ It only made matters worse. If he screwed up tonight, Jean would never believe that he hadn’t been keeping secrets from him. But no matter how things turned out, Mina would be hurt, whether it in the immediate or far off future.

            He hated this already.

            The sound of footsteps caught his attention. Taking one last deep breath, he waited for the door to open. When it did, he smiled. Mina was adorable, with her black pigtails and her dark green skirt. Her black jacket, gray leggings, and dark boots protected her from the cold as she smiled shyly, a light blush creeping onto her face. Marco rubbed the back of his neck, trying to think of what to say.

            “Um . . . hi! I’m Marco . . . here.” He handed her the roses, staring at the ground. Mina took them, her blush deepening.

            “Thank you . . . I’m going to find a vase—MOM!” Her tone changed dramatically as she called into the house. A kind-looking woman with same, albeit shorter hair hurried to the doorway, looking concerned. She smiled when he saw Marco wave shyly.

            “You must be Marco! Mina’s told me all about her special date—“

            “Mom! That’s embarrassing!” She shoved the flowers into her arms. “Find a vase!”

            “He brought you flowers! I can tell he’s a real sweetheart already—“

            “MOM! I’M LEAVING NOW!”           

            “But aren’t you going to let me take a picture of you guys—“

            “Later! Marco’s mom is waiting for us in the car! Bye!” She shut the door before her mother could respond. “I’m so sorry. She’s always like that . . .”

            “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it!” They walked to the car. He wasn’t sure if he should take her hand or not. “Um . . . do you like Italian food?”

            “Yes!” Marco laughed, both with relief and at her enthusiasm. “I mean, yes, that sounds lovely.” He felt an uncomfortable pang in his chest. Mina really was as sweet as everyone had said. Even though he didn’t feel anything romantic towards her, he really did like her. He opened the car door for her before letting himself in. He’d already briefed his own mother on refraining from embarrassing questions. If it were Jean instead of Mina, he wouldn’t have had to—

            _Stop it. Don’t think about Jean. As far as he knows, you’re great, you’re straight, and you’re on a date._

“So . . . our names both start with the letter ‘M’.” He wanted to slap himself for that one. Luckily, Mina didn’t seem too bothered, or weirded out by how completely pathetic he was.

            “They do,” she agreed. An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Marco spent a few moments staring out the window, watching the lights of the town’s main street come into view. Five minutes passed, and neither of them had said a word. He had to break the silence somehow. Half of him hoped Mina would do it, but there was no guarantee she would.

            “So . . .” he could not think of a single thing to follow that up with. Mina turned towards him, curious. “Um . . . have you ever done this before?” She shook her head.

            “It’s probably why my mom was acting so embarrassing. Though she’s _always_ like that . . .” Great. This was her first date ever, and he wasn’t interested. The nagging feeling in his stomach only grew as he watched cars pass by. Part of him wished his mother were like Mina’s, as to distract him. Instead, he was stuck with his own thoughts and his own guilt.

            “It’s uh, my first date, too.” It was quite obvious, and she knew that, too, but at least they were sort-of talking.

            “Your friend said you were really nice.” And now she was talking about Jean, so he _had_ to think about him. “And smart and funny. It’s kind of surprising—not that I expected you to be mean or anything! Just that a person like you—“

            “Would hang out with Jean?” It was a familiar question. He’d answered it too much over the years, the most recent time being directed at teary-eyed, distressed Jean . . . “Yeah, it surprises people. The thing about Jean is that he doesn’t sugarcoat anything. His bluntness is kind of off-putting, and I get it, but we’ve always been close. We have similar interests, and he’s funny.” _And cute. And perfect in ways nobody would ever realize._ “But he’s nice to look at, isn’t he?” He stiffened immediately, realizing what he’d just said. “I-I mean, everyone talks about how hot he is.”

            “Yeah, he’s hot. I wouldn’t date him, though. He’s not my type.” She took a moment to look out the window. “You know, isn’t it weird how girls are totally fine with complimenting other girls’ looks, but the second a guy tries to say ‘oh, he’s hot’, he immediately freaks out?”

            “Oh really?” He tried to hide his embarrassment. He didn’t even know why the conversation embarrassed him.

            “Liking someone’s looks isn’t the same as wanting to date them. Guys don’t really realize it. It’s kind of funny, actually. They get so defensive over their heterosexuality.” Marco genuinely laughed at that. It may have been the first time tonight he felt comfortable.

            “We stick ‘no homo’ onto everything, don’t we?” Mina nodded, eyes widening.

            “Finally, someone who understands! It’s like, if there’s a guy sucking your dick but he said ‘no homo’ before, does it really make a difference—“

            “Mina!” He pointed to his mom, who had turned around, concerned. She turned bright pink and stammered an apology. Fortunately, they were nearly there.

            “We should’ve just decided to meet at the restaurant,” he whispered. She shrugged.

            “It kind of sucks being freshmen. I can’t wait to learn to drive.” They finally arrived. This particular restaurant was one of Marco’s favorites, but it wasn’t too expensive. It had a warm, friendly vibe to it—it was well-lit with warm, glowing light, with nice plants and deep brown tables and nice red booths—it was a family restaurant, and he remembered celebrating many birthdays here as a kid. Part of him wished he could’ve taken Jean here—aggressively, he grabbed Mina’s hand, startling her. As soon as he realized it, he jumped, blushing.

            “Sorry!” He tried to release, but Mina kept her grip.

            “It’s okay, I just wasn’t—it’s okay.” She smiled. He returned it, but he wished it could’ve been more real. It didn’t feel real at all.

 

            “So Eren has the ball, and Jean was the only person open, but he was pissed at him so he threw a little too hard—I think he was aiming for his face—but Jean moved out of the way, and right at the moment the ball was supposed to hit him, Thomas breaks free of the guys guarding him, and it hits him right on the cheek . . . it was bad. I think it swelled up. He said it was nothing, but Eren felt horrible . . .” Mina gasped at all the right places, concern in her eyes as Marco told his story. He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck, finding nothing more to say.

            “Oh my gosh,” she commented. “That’s awful!”

            “Yeah, I suppose. Thomas seems fine, though. Coach yelled at Eren for ‘unnecessary force’—Jean almost started skipping when he heard that.” The restaurant was alive with chatter, the food was delicious as usual, and conversation finally flowed well between them. It didn’t do anything to improve Marco’s mood. Every second together only reminded him more and more that Mina didn’t deserve this, that she genuinely believed that he liked her and might want to take things further, that she didn’t know that a boy named Jean made him feel dizzy and warm and weak. His heart felt like it was bleeding. Guilt was stabbing him in the chest, and breathing was painful and every word felt like his last. If he had to keep this up any longer, he would surely die.

            “When’s your first game?” Marco snapped himself back to the table, back to the evening he hated so much. Lying was awful, but he wasn’t too bad at it.

            “January eleventh. It’s a home game against Yalkell.” He barely registered the question. All he could think about was how much everything would hurt.

            “Cool. Are you excited? Are they good?”

            “They’re alright, but I think we can beat them easily.” Mina smiled, taking another sip of her water.

            “I’ll be there to support you!” Marco’s heart beat uncomfortably. Mina stared at the table, fingers fidgeting. He pretended not to notice. “Um . . . after tonight . . . is it too soon to ask this?” He pretended not to hear. “What—would you like to be my boyfriend?”

            _Yes._ Break her heart later.

            _No._ Break it now.

            If he rejected her, she would come home in tears, forced to explain to her mother that he didn’t want her. Jean would yell at him, and he’d have to think of some excuse as to why things hadn’t worked out between them. Rejection would mean that he wasn’t into girls, and Jean would be on him more than ever, and he’d leave him once he’d decided that he was creepy and disgusting. But this pain was too much. He would hurt her, yes, but she’d recover faster. He wouldn’t have to spend months pretending he liked her, eventually kissing her without passion, telling her empty, meaningless confessions of love. If he rejected her, he wouldn’t have to use her to hide from Jean.

            “I’m so sorry! Was I too brash? I shouldn’t have—“

            “Mina.” Her eyes held such fear. He didn’t want to look at them and watch her break. Words dried up in his throat, anxiety flooding him as he watched her, waiting for him to say _something_ — “Wait a second.” His eyes caught something by the booth across from them, separated by a wall with potted plants sitting on top. Chestnut hair peeked out. Leaves concealed his face. Curiously, Marco walked away from the table, creeping closer and closer until he was face to face with—“ _Jean_?”

            “I told him not to stalk you,” a familiar voice, different from the one he’d expected. On Jean’s left, Connie peered out of the plant as well, his lack of height initially blocking Marco’s view of him. “He called me, claiming he was ‘worried about you’. I only came because he promised to pay for my food.” Marco was outraged. Anger overrode his guilt as he stared from Connie to Jean, furious that they felt the need to show up—oh God, he would have seen him reject Mina—he’d even planned on confessing that he liked a boy—

            “What do you think you’re doing?” Jean was kneeling on his booth, staring at Marco with a flushed face. “I thought you had respect for me, but clearly I was wrong!” He hated yelling at Jean but he was so humiliated he didn’t care. Jean was horrified, his eyes wide and his breaths short. He raised his arms in the air, as if to surrender on gunpoint.

            “I was just worried about you! It’s your first date, and I needed to make sure I kept my promise!” He narrowed his eyes, watching Marco closely. His gaze burned him. “You were going to call it off, weren’t you?” Marco gulped, nervously scanning the restaurant. He glimpsed at Mina, then turned back to Jean.

            “I—no, I wasn’t—“

            “I can tell when you lie, Marco. You think I don’t know you?” He hated how weak Jean made him feel. When he confronted him, all of his defenses crumbled. Jean was the master of brutal honesty. Talking to him was like talking to a lie detector. “Is she secretly creepy or something?”

            “Jean, this isn’t a good time.” He waved to Mina, to suggest that everything was okay. “I need to get back—“

            “Why don’t we all go out for ice cream?” Jean’s request was ridiculous and random. He was on to something. Apprehensively, Marco stared around the room, already predicting the thousands of ways it could go wrong.

            “Aw sweet, ice cream—“

            “I said I’d pay for your dinner, Connie, you’re on your own.”

            “What? That’s not fair, asshole!”

            “Life’s not fucking fair! You’re going to pay for your damn ice cream!”

            “But I didn’t bring any money!” Sighing, Marco left them to it, walking back to an impossible question.

            “Was that Jean? What did he want?” Marco shrugged, his nerves still tingling.

            “Um, he wanted to ask if we wanted to grab ice cream with him and Connie,” he replied, hoping it would distract from their last conversation. “There’s a great place nearby—“

            “Okay. Should we get a check, then?”

            “Y-yeah, definitely.” Sitting quiet and still was impossible. He kept turning to Mina, who seemed greatly concerned and quite nervous. Avoiding the question wasn’t an option. He’d drive himself insane worrying about it. “Um, Mina? About what we were saying . . .”

            “Oh?” Her eyes were wide, hopeful—he couldn’t do this. He had to.

            “I . . . am not . . .” he lowered his voice, avoiding Jean’s watchful eyes at all costs. “You’re a really great girl. I really do like you, and I’ve had a lot of fun—“

            “You’re gay for Jean, aren’t you?” Marco nearly fell out of his seat. Mina almost laughed, but clearly didn’t feel up to it. “You keep talking about him, and when you do, your face turns pink. You’re completely lovestruck whenever someone even mentions him. I . . . I really didn’t want to believe it, but . . . am I right?”

            Guilty, Marco nodded slowly, face red and heart pounding in his ears. This feeling was growing too familiar.

            “I’m sorry, Mina,” he apologized, ashamed. “I didn’t want to use you—I can’t have Jean, and I really tried to like you like that—it was a lot of fun! I like talking to you, and I’d love to be your friend.” He tried to smile. Nothing could make her feel better about her situation, but it sure went a hell of a lot better than he’d thought it would. “Wait, are my feelings that obvious?”

            “Sorry. You might want to work on hiding them better.” He tried a weak laugh.

            “He’s pretty dense. He hasn’t noticed for two years—“

            “Holy shit, _two years_?” Her mouth dropped open. It was too funny for Marco not to laugh. When he did, he felt a weight lifting off his chest. “How thick do you have to be?”

            “I guess you’ll see for yourself, when we get ice cream.” The waiter handed them their check. When he left, Marco continued. “Hey, can you make sure Connie doesn’t drop any hints? Especially ones that aren’t very subtle?”

            Mina smiled again, almost as if nothing had even happened. “Of course.”

 

            Ice cream with his friends had gone surprisingly well. Nobody had asked them about their date or the result of it. Thankfully, Connie was too busy begging Marco and Mina for ice cream money to imply that Jean was pure sexiness and if given the choice, Marco would bang him in a heartbeat. Their conversations were tame and nobody was bothering him about his feelings for Jean and Mina, which allowed his mind to wander. He never needed to experience another night like this one in his life. The nagging feeling that Jean would ask him about Mina eventually kept his anxiety alive. Marco licked his ice cream, the sweet taste of vanilla cooling him down. He’d deal with the consequences later. For now, he just wanted to lose himself with his friends.

            It was a Sunday night. Marco had promised Mina home by ten. They had an hour to kill, so the group decided to wander about. Eventually, they ended up behind a series of stores, laughing and talking in dimmer lighting and cold air. Their breaths came out as clouds when they laughed, adding to the good spirits. Marco could finally smile easily. He couldn’t quite ignore the usual butterflies Jean brought, or the way Mina and Connie gave each other knowing glances whenever he looked at him, but it really did feel carefree. They’d manage to save the night, and though his friends were annoying, he had to thank them.

            “ . . . So this girl is sitting in the middle of class, _in the front row_ , and she has this fucking buffet on her table, so the teacher walks up to her—“ Jean paused, his eyes lowering. His friends watched as he stared at their left, raising an eyebrow. “Hold on—do you hear something?” Marco could hear footsteps. It sounded like a group. Moments later, he could pick up on voices—they sounded like high school boys.

            “Someone’s coming,” Mina confirmed, peering around the corner. “Just some teenagers.”

            “What’re they saying?” Connie joined them, curious. “Should we care?”

            “Just be quiet for a second,” Marco suggested. “Let’s hear what they’re talking about.”

            As the footsteps grew louder, their conversation grew clearer. The boy speaking sounded very cocky. Marco could hear him scoff.

            “ . . . I’m surprised he even made the team! It’s ridiculous—a scrawny, pathetic kid like him, professing that he’ll beat our school’s team! I beat him up good after he’d given that stupid little speech, yet he’s still there, playing basketball for Trost . . .”

            “Do we know this guy?” Connie asked, a little too loudly. Jean slapped his hand over his mouth. These guys were getting really close now. Their voices were far more distinct . . .

            “Jean, we need to get out of here,” Marco insisted. “He sounds sadistic—“ Before he could say anymore, the group came into view. He almost jumped, seeing them in person. Most of them were around Bertholdt’s height, with the exception of one boy who stood in the front. All of them were clearly well-groomed. Marco had a feeling that their clothing wasn’t cheap, either. Unfortunately for them, his own group’s presence hadn’t gone unnoticed. They glared at them, exchanging amused glances with each other. The boy at the head of the group had a head of soft, blonde curls and tiny eyes and the most dangerous smile Marco had ever seen.

            “Is there a gang bang going on around here?” His voice was mocking, a bit high-pitched, and matched that of the boy who had been speaking earlier. Marco clenched his teeth, watching his sick eyes staring at Mina. She quivered, eyes wide as he taunted. “Why weren’t we invited?”

            “Back off, jackass,” Connie spat, despite the fact that he barely reached his shoulders. The boy only smiled wider, amusement flickering in his eyes. Marco looked to Jean, whose fists were clenched, but he knew better than to jump straight into a fight. Instead, he glared at the group, frown unwavering. The boy took a step forward, eyes moving from Connie to Jean to Mina.

            “Aren’t you cute? Are those pigtails?” Mina flinched as he played with them, his eyes boring straight into hers. Jean and Connie tried to shove him off, but he kicked them both easily and continued. “It’s too bad you aren’t well-endowed. But at least your hair’s soft—“   

            “You’re such a creep!” she protested, trying to push him away. He began to laugh, the sound of it sending shivers up Marco’s spine. He was sick. He didn’t know who he was, but he despised him. Fury flooded through him as he watched him. Silently, he snuck behind him, and delivered a kick straight to his side—

            “Oh? What do we have here? A fighter?” His friends laughed loudly, though Marco couldn’t tell whether it was directed at him or their friend. Jean took the moment and seized his wrist, allowing Marco to grab the other. “Perfect. Just what I needed. Ky was starting to get boring.” Marco felt like he’d heard that name before. He didn’t have the time to identify who he was talking about. Instinctively, he tried for another kick, but the boy was quicker, freeing himself of Jean’s grasp. His fist flew towards Marco’s face; it stung when it struck his cheek, sending him reeling to the ground. Just as he opened his eyes, a sharp pain kicked him in the stomach, over and over again—

            “I’LL FUCKING DESTROY YOU, ASSHOLE!” The pain stopped. Groaning, Marco pulled himself up, blinking. The streetlights were blinding, but eventually he saw Jean standing above the kid, his foot on his chest. “Hit Marco again, and I crush your balls.”

            “You dare challenge me?” He smirked, still maintaining his prideful, condescending attitude. “Even when my friends are watching?” Jean glared at him for a few moments more. Eventually, he sighed in defeat, removing his foot from the boy’s body. Picking himself up, he met Jean’s eyes and smirked.

            “That’s right. Run while you still can. I promise we won’t bother you tonight . . . we’ve had our fun.” He turned away, his friends snickering and chatting and cheering as if this was their usual night. Marco reminded himself bitterly that it probably was. Standing up was a pain. Jean rushed to his side and held him up, electricity rushing through him as their skin touched.

            “Marco, are you okay?” His face was hot again. The cold air around him was a relief. He nodded, unable to concentrate on anything but Jean’s touch and his focused gaze. If he had more confidence, he’d wrap his arms around him and claim it stabilized him. Instead, he walked along, dread filling him with each step. He’d have to explain to his parents where the bruise on his cheek and his soreness came from. Just by looking, he could tell Jean was thinking the same thing.

            “Hey . . . I’m sorry for following you. That was kind of dick-ish of me.” His voice was soft, as soft as he could get for being Jean. Marco shrugged, attempting to keep a reasonable distance from him.

            “It’s a good thing you were,” Marco assured him. “And you’re always a dick.”

            “Shut up.” They walked in silence after that, until they reached the restaurant. Marco’s mother was waiting. He sighed, dread filling his gut. Explaining any of this would not be fun.

            “Ready, Mina?” She nodded and took his hand, taking Jean’s place. It wasn’t as thrilling when she led him, but he was grateful. “I’m really, really sorry. About everything. I swear I’ll—“

            “It’s okay, Marco. Despite it all, it was kind of fun.” She smiled at him as they sat in the car. He waved to Jean and Connie before driving away, wanting nothing more than to crash on his bed and never leave. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dream is to have a popular Jeanmarco fanfic. I realize that's a bit of a stretch, seeing as I'm not good at selling myself or reaching a large audience. But it's fun to write anyways. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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